


make it so divine

by but_seriously



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, F/M, MELISSA PROMPTS ME STRANGE THINGS AND I AM WEAK, Mixed Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7729111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_seriously/pseuds/but_seriously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus has never met someone who overdressed in such beautiful order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make it so divine

**Author's Note:**

> [posted on my tumblr](http://highgaarden.tumblr.com/post/149179905427/make-it-so-divine-by-butseriously-klaus-has), too!
> 
> this story is for melissa. one night on her birthday she'd left me some vibrantly, spectacularly drunk prompts in my inbox, which i'm pretty sure she forgot all about the next day. thank you for being the sort of star that never dims, not even in daytime. happy ~~late~~ birthday!!! hope this surprises you, my sun-laced parasol. (also, i'm pretty sure 'melissa prompts me strange things AND I AM WEAK' is a legit tag on my ao3 now. click it!) 
> 
> and AU surprises of this magnitude would not be complete without reaching out to the babe of all collaborators, alana. much like the magic she delivered for _all those friendly people_ , she has truly levelled up for this fic. thank you for rising to the occasion so swiftly and unhesitatingly when i messaged, "how do you feel about blowing melissa's mind again?" you can find the accompanying gifset, visuals that fill in the cracks of this fic, [right here](http://klaussified.tumblr.com/post/149296930257/actorsau-pt-1-inspired-by-make-it-so-divine). alana, i will follow your visuals into the dark.
> 
> thank you also to my main partner in ho crimes, khadija, the mineral to my mountain goat, my rock in all things, thank you for being patient as i scream nomenclatures of every nature at you and barf out insecurities and sent you five versions of the same fic for you to go through. 
> 
> and to sam, my third invisible arm sticking tastefully out of my chest, the missing heart in my writing process. i miss you, and this universe of drunken mingling and heightened celebrity would not have existed without your helping hands.
> 
>  
> 
> **because of the formatting of this fic, it is best viewed in google chrome on your laptop, but to all of you who have to power through on your tablets or phones... godspeed.**
> 
> also, this fic comes with a soundtrack in certain moments! highlight if you like these sort of things (spoilers ahead):  
> 1) new order, "ceremony"; the st. james party  
> 2) daughter, "switzerland"; the scene where caroline and klaus start smoking, just before  
> 3) coldplay, "x & y"; anytime you feel like you wanna be extra with the heartbreak  
> 4) lorde, "ribs"; the song that won the battle against death cab for fic title  
> 5) death cab for cutie, "the employment pages"; which eventually served as fic inspiration because LYRICS  
> 6) coldplay, "clocks"; which was THE SONG that launched me into writing frenzy, for some reason? this fic was originally entitled _you are_ but then it became too obvious. you'll see.  
>  7) cigarettes after sex, "nothing's gonna hurt you baby"; ANYTIME BABY ANYTIME but the last two scenes as well

 

 

—

 

 

_we can talk it so good_

_we can make it so divine—_

__

 

 

—

 

 

First, he asks, “Where should we start?”

Klaus’ hand is on her cheek. His palm fits perfectly around her face, but it’s taken many touches, careful practice, to get it to curve that way, fingers grazing cheekbone—he had been clumsy the first time she allowed him to touch her, his hands hadn’t been so steady.

Another question he asks is not made verbal. It’s his lips, hovering close enough to Caroline’s for her to be dizzyingly aware that he _isn’t_ kissing her. She is filled with the absence of it: it presses against her lips, his breath damp and smelling of champagne. Klaus doesn’t kiss her, no – not yet. He is waiting for her.

 _Where should we start?_ she wonders.

From the beginning, of course.

 

 

—

 

 

  
  
Photograph by Meredith Fell  


The Mystery of Klaus Mikaelson: Inside His Manic Days and Sleepless Nights

_By M. Martin_

We meet in a smoky bar. There is a man leaning over the counter with a bowtie loose and forlorn around his collar, wiping down glasses that gleam even in the dim light. The few regulars here mind their own business, because this isn’t a bar for socialization. Which is propitious, because without prelude the windows burst forth a cloud of shards, a force of a thousand punches reduce the occupants of the room to broken dolls on the floor, a deafening roar replaces all other sounds. 

In the aftermath of the explosion, a scattered applause starts, and then picks up spectacularly. Klaus Mikaelson leads the ovation, the grin that’s become familiar to anyone who’s ever seen him act transforming his face entirely. 

“We couldn’t get the mechanics of it to work earlier,” Mikaelson, 31, tells me as he leads me off set. He’s talking, of course, about the explosion that had stuntmen covered in rubble and jagged pieces of glass. “After we replaced the man in charge of explosives things went seamlessly. Sometimes it’s the people closest to you that you have to watch out for.” 

It’s the final day of production on a film called _Glass Animals_ , his fourth venture into directing. Much of the crew working on it are people Mikaelson has worked with before. Collaborators commend his immortal presence on set, and in the same 

breath attest the distrust he has of strangers, to the point of labelling him a paranoid. At this, Mikaelson barks out a laugh. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” 

Klaus Mikaelson can’t be captured in one title: he’s an actor, director, writer, film professor, novelist, artist, painter and all-around eccentric—and even that’s an understatement. The past decade has been filled with a slew of projects and the odd blockbuster here and there, in addition to him signing on to teach film at both USC and UCLA. 

His disdain for any time wasted is shown in the long list of projects currently listed for 2017 release on his IMDb page. Even right now as he’s showing me the various delights of the set, he’s already on his way to the airport, off to begin promotional tours for a film he’s starring in with frequent collaborator Caroline Forbes. This time, they play Tom and Charlotte in _Waste_ , former lovers wrongly accused for the death of Charlotte’s new husband. Director Christopher Nolan explores the infinite in the smallest human details, noting how Mikaelson “nailed every nuance without underlining a single one of them”; Mikaelson allows this with an uncharacteristically modest bow of his head.

_Watch the trailer to Mikaelson’s latest film, Nolan’s_ Waste.  


Among dramatic leading men on the Hollywood A-list, Mikaelson has an uncanny knack for choosing scripts that somehow always rack up nominations come Oscar season. Which is why it is questionable that he’s chosen to veer his resume in the direction of genre-agnostic work for the past five years. To note, _Glass Animals_ is a lowbrow, shoestring production with none of the prominent names Mikaelson is used to rubbing shoulders with. This film appears to be a favor to his younger brother, who dabbles in experimental shorts posted haphazardly on his homegrown website. “On paper, he’s an absolute douche. But he’s not like that at all in reality,” Kol enthused. “In reality, he’s an even bigger douche. But he’s paying for all of this, so… bygones.”

The last film that had generated any sort of Oscar buzz had been Martin Scorsese’s 2010 masterpiece _Hummingbird_. A visionary feat, it rose to the enormous challenge of having only two faces onscreen for the entire movie. Forbes had been the last actor to share the screen with Mikaelson before he’d promptly disappeared off the pavements of Tinseltown, so perhaps it is only fitting that she is the one to pull him back into the limelight.

  
“You’d like to find poetry in Caroline, wouldn’t you? There were a lot of reasons, but one is that that she’s easy to work with. Hollywood doesn’t like to believe in happenstance, but at the end it’s all it is, really.” Mikaelson grins again, his ease betraying none of the vulture-like media scrutiny that had surrounded the two of them some years ago. “As for what I think you’re asking in your coded way, no—there isn’t anything going on. I’ve realized that, at least right now, it’s hard for me to be in a relationship. I can’t devote the time it deserves, especially with someone like her. She deserves the world.”

He sounds like a lovesick fool, I tell him. That infamous Mikaelson laugh starts up again. “No, I’m just very method. The press tours start in a few hours, and I’ve been slowly shifting into Tom’s mindset again. Helps with the interviews. He is a man who was very much in love, you know.”

READ MORE AT ROLLINGSTONE.COM

 

 

—

 

 

SATURDAY, MARCH 5, 2016

Klaus teases ‘Waste’ Press Tour: Here Is The Schedule

 

Ahead of what’s expected to be a massive press rollout, Klaus shared this amazing throwback image of him behind the scenes on his Instagram. **Waste** opens this month all over the world, and we don’t want you to miss a thing.

Here’s the schedule so far:

**PREMIERES**

**3/11-3/12:** Klaus, co-star Caroline Forbes, and director Christopher Nolan will kick off the **Waste** world tour in Beijing, China. Watch Klaus and Caroline announce the big news. 

**3/19:** Mexico City –- Klaus, Caroline Forbes, Stefan Salvatore and Christopher Nolan are expected to attend the Latin American premiere of the film at the Auditario Mexico. Warner Bros. confirmed there will also be a press conference and photocall.

 **3/20:** New York City –- The world premiere of **Waste** is  reportedly taking place at Radio City Music Hall.

 **3/22:** London –- Klaus is expected to be joined by Caroline Forbes, Stefan Salvatore, Joseph-Gordon Levitt, Lorenzo St. James and Jessica Chastain for the European premiere of the film at the ODEON Leicester Square.

**APPEARANCES**

**3/14:** Good Morning America -– Klaus is scheduled to be on the show.

 **3/17:** Jimmy Kimmel Live! –- Klaus will be Jimmy’s guest despite the fact that he drove his Hybrid into Jimmy’s studio once. Bygones.

 **3/18:** The Ellen DeGeneres Show –- Klaus is scheduled to be on the show that day, joined by Caroline Forbes. Ellen hinted for them to bring raincoats on her Twitter, so that should be a fun one.

 **3/24:** Special **Waste** screening in London to benefit The Royal Marines Charity. Klaus will introduce the film.

 **3/25:** The Graham Norton Show -– Klaus, Caroline Forbes and Stefan Salvatore  will be his guests.

 **3/31:** Conan -- The cast of **Waste** is set to appear on the show. Awesomeness ahead.

Keep checking back, because we’ll be updating this page as we get new information. And look for the complete coverage of everything Waste in the coming weeks. Go Klaus!

Feel free to email us if you see an appearance that’s not listed here.

 

© KlausMikaelson.org, your #1 source for all things Klaus Mikaelson

 

—

 

tay. @peachyforbes  
THEY’RE HEEEEEEEEEEEERE!!!!! ♡♡♡♡ instagram.com/p/t8bc25rikr

melissa @goldcaught  
@peachyforbes I CANT BELII I IIE VE IT’S BEEN 78 YEARS SINCE THEY’VE BEEN IN EACH OTHERS PRESENCE 

C. @candycola  
GET WITH THE WINNING TEAM HOES #KLAROLINE

April Young @youngapril  
thank you dad @TheDarkNolan

marianna @tunnelvision  
*hozier voice* aamen, amen, aaaaaamen ~ #WastePremiere

 

—

 

Counting the nuts and shells, if Klaus had been allowed by his publicist to be entirely honest (and he wasn’t), he had wanted nothing more than to have Martin carted off-set in a wheelbarrow, subdued if possible. It was an achievement in itself that Martin still had his name tacked onto the Rolling Stone piece, seeing as how Klaus might as well have written it himself with the amount of editing he did the day it was emailed to him. It was part of the contract that Klaus would have the last word on it, and Martin didn’t have much choice but to agree, because an exclusive with Klaus was about as frequent as Damon Salvatore landing nominations come awards season – which is to say, never.

Lines were slashed in red, vicious and heavy the ink, but the tip of his Montblanc paused when the section about Caroline had come up. It was largely due to the fact that his sister was banging on his door, but if Klaus had been entirely honest, something about the way their names fit together on a page still made something rattle the inside of his chest. His eyebrows dip, his reading glasses are yanked off so he can rub the bridge of his nose—and that damned banging only persists louder.

The room he is in right now is the living room, a robustly decorated, square room with a wall opening up to his Japanese garden, a wall made entirely of glass and sturdy wooden beams. Rebekah scorns the design of it, calls it a _bachelor nightmare_ ; Sage, upon the rare times Finn decided to visit, commented that it needed a woman’s touch.

He doesn’t wish to puzzle out what she means by that.

“It’s not fucking locked!” he yells when the banging continues. He knows she can hear him, all the way down the hall and into the foyer, because Rebekah always gives off the impression that she presses her ear to doors, the way she just _knows_ things.

“That’s both idiotic and dangerous,” his sister says when she finally swans into the room, looking dressed up for a party.

“Only because you insist on acting homeless.”

“Your kitchen’s bigger,” is all she deigns to reply him, and she’s gone, only to return with a glass of something fizzy. “Want some? You look parched, brother dear.”

Klaus ignores her in favour of the article, but it’s snatched of his hands by Rebekah, who had moved to perch at his table. “This looks nothing like what was published of you yesterday. You sounded halfway human there.” She pulls it further away from his reach, squinting, “Honestly, you sound bloody terrible here. Did you really not help him when he fell into that manhole?”

“He said things about my trailer.”

“That’s because it’s ridiculously lavish, you barmpot.”

“He brought up _Subzero._ ”

“People should be warned with liability waivers before speaking to you,” Rebekah sneers before dropping the article back onto the table. “He was well-compensated, I hope?”

“He was,” Klaus mutters. “He got himself an exclusive. With _me_.”

Rebekah rolls her eyes. “If your head gets any bigger you might need a new trailer.”

 

—

 

Her dress falls like water from the waist down. It makes her look soft, ethereal as is the theme of the night, her eyelids dusted a smoky pink to match. She greets him with a warm smile, a smile made bigger by the resounding clicks and minute flashes.

“Klaus!” she greets, voice like almond butter. “You look great!”

“As do you,” he replies, and accepts the lofty kiss she places on his cheek. The photographers go wild, their clicking a whir now. They pose for the cameras, his hand on her back and her head tilted towards his shoulder, eyes crinkled enough in the corners to hint something genuine, like they’ve learned so long ago.

As soon as they’re inside, away from the cameras, Caroline’s smile slides off her face. She doesn’t hate him. Not anymore, not the way she used to, with a vindictiveness he recognized only in himself sometimes. She looks at him with a begrudging respect now, her painted nails wrapped around her glittering clutch, fingers sewn together. “The flight here was a bitch. The turbulence—”

“Altoids helped with the nerves last time, didn’t it? I recall you telling me.”

There’s a flicker of annoyance in her eyes: he knows she hates it when he does that, when he pulls up little details about her, when he obstinately refuses to engage in the small talk she initiates. _We’re not friends_ , she’d told him once.

 _Don’t I fucking know that,_ he’d snarled, right before he kissed her.

 

—

 

Davina ✧ ❜ **: *** @davinaclaire  
@ klaus nice job pretending you're not in love with caroline in a room full of CAMERAS #WastePremiere

C. @candycola  
lmaooo you aren’t fooling anybody with that Strategic Hand Placement, klaus

melissa @goldcaught  
@candycola I LOVE!! ! that he’s always standing on her left like he knows which side she favors 10/10 for mr caroline forbes 

C. @candycola  
@goldcaught can you imagine him just flexing that hand a la mr darcy after the premier’s over the mere BRUSH of their bodies an electricity humming in his skin 

melissa @goldcaught  
@candycola he uses the same hand to jerk off later probably????????? #oops

girl @softdemons  
@goldcaught @candycola YOU ABSOLUTE DEVILS

 

 

—

 

 

  


  
Photograph by Matt Donovan

The Poetry of Caroline

_By Kaal Ivan_

Of all the things Caroline Forbes misses since her rapid rise to stardom, it would be walking around naked with the windows open.  “You just can’t do that anymore. You can’t afford that kind of privacy, especially when you live in New York,” she says while the makeup artist paints her lips an oxblood red.

What she means is that _she_ can’t afford that kind of privacy. Not in New York, when you own a luxe penthouse a floor away from Elton John and Marcel Gerard, where everyone in the city knows the address to. Not when you’re one of the biggest stars in the world.

“Part and parcel with the business!” is her answer to anyone asking if she misses her alone times. One might have the impression that she is speaking with a capital B, because she does take her craft seriously. She certainly is a busy girl these days, the latest in her achievements becoming a linchpin of Hollywood’s newest billion-

dollar franchise, _Metal, Dust_. In the George Miller-spearheaded flick, Forbes, 25, plays a woman who rebels against a tyrannical ruler in post-apocalyptic Australia in search for her home-land with the help of a group of female prisoners.

Caroline Forbes can’t seem to stray from the role of seemingly vulnerable women with wills of steel, which is not far off from how she is in real life. She has the disarming quality of being impossibly beautiful one moment and somewhat terrifying the next, and the type of energy, nervous and otherwise, that makes her basically hum. Even dressed to the nines in layers and layers of bespoke Elie Saab she manages to exude strength in her fluidity. Which is probably why she’s the face of Gucci’s latest fragrance, _Flight._ And would probably explain why we are in a warehouse at 5am, Forbes getting prepped by her glam squad for the fragrance’s ad campaign.

  
Michael Kirby Smith/Redux

“What a name, right? This dress is supposed to make me look like I’m flying. Underwater. That’s the concept of today’s ad!” Her phone beeps, and after a quick check emerges from the screen rolling her eyes. “That’s Stefan, from the next room.” She makes a face. “Listening. He says I’m not supposed to reveal so much.”

I can keep a secret, I tell her. When Forbes smiles it is dazzling, and she says, “I’m sure.”

The Stefan in question is none other than Stefan Salvatore, part of the _Waste_ ensemble and one of Forbes many A-list friends she’s acquired since landing the much-coveted role of Selise in David Fincher’s _Lucky Strike_ seven years ago. At just eighteen. The film must have been prophetic, because she’s been in a string of blockbusters since then.

Turns out, if you’re a beautiful actress who delivers fierce, incandescent, once-in-a-generation performances worthy of Streep and Mirren, and then takes big roles in Christopher Nolan movies, you will become famous, and people will start calling you ‘movie star’ instead of your given name. Forbes remains level-headed in the fame, seemingly enjoying it. Her _Waste_ co-star Lorenzo St. James attributes this to her tenacity when it comes to taking on roles. “She’s like a perky, blonde angel of death.”

“It’s not like I haven’t paid my dues. I played a lot of supporting roles in things you’ve probably never seen.”

Really? Like what?

“Oh, that one Somerhalder movie that sort of tanked. _The Big Bad_?” She looks sheepish, blushing slightly. “I was the hand that serves him coffee from off-screen.” She insists on showing me the clip on YouTube, and assures me that the hand free of manicure – “That’s me! Could you – pause!” – is indeed hers.

After the shoot, Forbes has plans to meet with best friends, actress Bonnie Bennett and model Elena Gilbert for coffee – and the latest addition to her troupe, Rebekah Mikaelson. Forbes looks resigned when the inevitable question of Rebekah’s brother comes up. “I mean, when you make a great movie with someone…” she trails off. “Working with him hasn’t always been so easy, though. He doesn’t really make it easy. And I’m the biggest control freak I know, so when you put us in a room together…” She mimics punching air, then laughs.

It’s a stark contrast to what Klaus Mikaelson has said of her performance for _Waste_. “She’s a very fierce performer, very brave. Always testing the boundaries of how far you can go.”

When I communicate what was said of her, Forbes seems surprised. “Well, that’s something.”

READ MORE AT ROLLINGSTONE.COM

 

—

 

IGN @IGN  
Caroline Forbes already in talks for the next Nolan film. More details here: go.ign.com/AHbQ4Sui

Rolling Stone @RollingStone  
Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes’ performances in ‘Waste’ are indelible. Read our review rol.st/2h9B4Qp

Vulture @vulture  
As usual, what the hell is Christopher Nolan trying to say in his new movie? vult.re/7bjcRo6

ScreenRant @ScreenRant  
The Idiot’s Guide To Understanding Nolan Films scr.rnt/8nkvTp7

The Guardian @guardian  
Klaus Mikaelson’s return to the big screen ‘absolutely riveting’. trib.al/wmT62Mi

 

—

 

“If we’re going to be friends, we can’t have sex anymore,” Caroline declares one morning as they get dressed.

“How conveniently timed, love,” Klaus says, knotting up his tie. “Are you quite sure, though? Nobody who’s ever made that decision managed to stick at it.”

“The part about being friends, or not having sex?” Caroline’s voice is light, but there’s a hint of possession in her voice that Klaus finds he likes. He chooses not to answer, just smiles at her instead, let her mind wander.

Caroline finishes dressing in silence. She combs her hair, smooths on her lipstick. Klaus hands her one of her slingbacks, feeling rather worried now. “Caroline, listen—“

“Nope,” she says immediately. “Not doing this.”

She skips out the hotel door to be the first one at the rehearsal, most likely.

That’s the last time they sleep together. For a while, anyway.

 

—

 

Maybe it started on the second week of production for _Hummingbird_. Maybe it started before that, but Klaus can’t remember a moment where he had wanted with such infinite need to kiss her. It was making him dizzy, the restraint it took to keep his hands at his side, which must have been why he'd thought it smart to walk away from Caroline Forbes.

In the middle of an argument.

Klaus should have known by then that it was never wise to walk away from Caroline Forbes when she’s angry.

Because they did this. He would challenge her, question the way she would act out a scene. He would interrupt her in the middle of her monologue and tell her to go a different direction completely, extras groaning quietly in the background. He would watch her closely, making her feel cautious of her every move. He would be mean. He would make her livid, make her scream. Make her throw her script in his face and storm out of rooms. But then—

—then magic would happen. She would return with a spite and a fervor, she would adlib all their scenes and try to throw _him_ off, she would be unpredictably electric. Klaus plays against her, chances her temperaments, and what comes out would be a scene acted out with such alacrity it would leave the room still.

She didn’t like him, that much was obvious. The funny thing is Klaus thinks she probably only started liking him after the sex.

Ha bloody ha.

Maybe it started like this:

They’re Charles and Nora, decked out in 20’s garb straight out of set, lobbing lines back and forth, until Klaus decides to step out of the moment and say, quite staunchly, “You’re not quite understanding Nora, love.”

Caroline bristles. She hates being told she’s wrong, more so when she is certain she’s right. “And what gives _you_ the authority to say that? What is that, five nominations now and still no win?”

And Klaus being _Klaus_ , when reminded of his shortcomings: “Well, since we’re on the topic. Let’s talk about the fact that you can’t act unless I fuck it out of you?”

It is unexpected, the way the temperature shifts. Klaus is met with a silence that might as well have been a slap, cold as it is.

“ _Fuck_ you,” Caroline hisses. Her hands tremble in tiny fists, her gold flapper dress shiver along. “I don’t know why the fuck I keep being saddled with _you_ , like there aren’t _any_ other leading men out there who could measure me wit by wit. _Fuck you_.”

His hand grabs her cheek. For so rough a gesture his touch astonishingly isn’t, but she forgets that when he forces his eyes onto hers and tilts his head down – he growls against her lips, “Where should we start?”

Her eyes widen in disbelief – he’s _waiting_ for her, the bastard.

That Klaus is pushed off does not wound him as much as her next words do. “You’re _delusional_ if you think that one time thing got you a standing invitation.”

The second the words leave her she knows it’s a mistake. Her veneer melts a bit, but hardens again when Klaus does. He straightens up, he looks stiff. He looks angry. He gives her the curtest of nods, even tips his goddamn hat, and leaves the room.

A beep of his phone tells him that his driver is waiting for him, he forgoes the elevator for the stairs, the pound of his footsteps the only thing louder than the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He manages to slip past some fans loitering in the lobby and makes his way for the back exit, finding relief in the black limo waiting for him in the alleyway.

“Wait, Klaus—!”

Caroline’s slipped into the car with him. Her breathing come in sharp pants; she had winded herself chasing after him. She didn’t look perfect anymore, he notes with abstract satisfaction. Her hair had come out of its costumed curls. The pearls in her hair glint where they'd been a mere detail before. She didn’t look prim and mannered anymore. She looks absolutely mad, yellow hair struck against red cheeks. It stirs something animal in his gut.

Caroline grabs him by his collar. “Listen up, motherfucker—“

Klaus kisses her. She swallows a sharp yelp when his lips cover hers. It is not a gentle kiss. If Klaus intended to bruise her she would know the result of it in the morning. It isn’t a kiss as much as it is a wrestle, holding the other down, putting the other in place. When their teeth clack together it sends his mind reeling – he easily bats aside her fighting fists and pulls her close, rough enough that she bites down on his lower lip with a grunt, but _she’s_ the one to gather her gold-plated skirt around her thighs to straddle him. He's hard already - he's been hard since they fought in that hotel room - and he can feel the heat of her cunt grinding against him even through her knickers, made worse when the car starts to move and the momentum knocks her against him.

“I’m listening,” Klaus says obligingly when they pull away for air. There is a pleased grin on his face, at the situation, at her. The space in the back of the limo feels untouched, compacted in its heat just for them. Lucien had slid the divider shut as soon as he’d seen Caroline come in. Klaus makes a mental note to give him a raise.

“Never say anything like that to me again,” Caroline says quietly. She means business. She used to talk to him like this in bed, when she wants him to bend to her will. Most of the time it works, but sometimes Klaus needs a little more persuasion.

Klaus quirks an eyebrow, teasing. “Even if it’s true?”

“Especially then.”

Vulnerability stains her features. Klaus sees it in her eyes, struggling against the resentment she has for him. He hadn’t meant what he said, but even if he had, it didn’t have to be a _bad_ thing, he wants to say. He liked her angry, yes, but he also liked it when she was finding her footing around him, carefully structured words, never clumsy. He liked that she tried so hard to be careful around him, and almost felt sorry that he liked dismantling that even more.

“You should know, love,” Klaus says slowly, gingerly telling her his secret, “half of what I say is meaningless around you.”

“This can be, too,” Caroline says while very deliberately loosening his tie.

His hand stops her before she can pull it off entirely. "But you know it isn't."

Caroline doesn't answer. She's busy with his mouth, her tongue prying his teeth apart, little experimental licks. The car swerves and it sends her grinding against his cock again, and his desire for her flares bright and hot and - _christ, when was the last time they'd kissed? Or even touched?_

Klaus has to remind himself that they're in a car that is still bloody moving to stop himself from tearing her out of her clothes. Caroline doesn't seem to have the same concern. She's already unbuttoned his shirt down to his navel. A quick slide of her hands followed by the trail of her lips, down, down down his chest - and then, his trousers. She tugs aside his belt, pulls the zip down, and within the next turn of the car she is knelt down between his knees, smiling foxlike at him. 

It should have been a warning, because she presses a lingering kiss on his hard-on through his underwear. "Fuck," he grits out to the sound of pearls clattering to the floor of the car: he's grabbed her hair. She snickers, kissing him again, only this time she's pulled down his briefs, tonguing just the tip of him, he bucks, she takes him into her wet hot mouth, and then—

"We're here," she says sweetly, straightening up.

Klaus groans long and frustrated, head falling back against the leather seat. "Damn you," he sighs wretchedly.

His chest is marked by her lipstick, which he has to quickly fix when the car pulls up at his residence, omnipresent paparazzi outside. Caroline is smirking by the window, no longer on his lap. She’d pulled one of his coats from a hidden compartment underneath the seat. She knows where his things are by now. Casting her a dark look, he grabs a coat as well.

“Are you ready?” he asks her when he's recovered as best as he can, hand poised on the latch of the car door.

“ _Please_ , Klaus.” She flashes him a smile, like a shark. It turns into something almost fond all at once when he swings the door open and lights begin flashing in their face.

“After you, love,” Klaus offers her his arm, and she takes it. They walk up the steps to his brownstone exchanging friendly barbs, a laugh or two, ignoring the cameras parting like the red sea before them.

The cold stings his face and provides some clarity. There is an uncomfortable bulge in his pants, the muscle memory of Caroline stroking it with her tongue fighting its way through the relaxed lounge of his shoulders. Underneath his coat he is tense, helplessly thinking of all the things he'd like to do to her while keeping up a flowing conversation with her for the cameras. The thirteen steps from the car to his front door suddenly seem very long.

The minute the door shuts Klaus has her pressed against it, forcing his knee between her legs and rolling hard enough until he hears her gasp stutter in her throat. Somehow they make their way to his bedroom, clothes already off. Klaus fucks her right against the wall, his chest to her back, one hand kneading her breasts, the other splayed on her stomach, covering the skin like the slick of her sweat. His hand travels downwards, and he massages her cunt with the palm of his hand, drawing it out as long as possible.

Her forehead rubs against the wallpaper, murmuring curses and other such sounds, voice pitching higher when he pushes his cock in the way he’s wanted to all night.  Her nails scratch at the wall when he keeps up the pace, her bony shoulders digging into his chest, his teeth on her shoulder like he wants to bite down and taste blood.

In this position Caroline can’t do much but take, and Klaus is more than happy to give. He hoists her up, sinks her down onto his cock as he thrusts his own hips up, deep and deliberate, over and over again until he’s satisfied she’s called his name loud enough.

 

—

 

They don’t fight the next day, the first time since production began. Klaus sheepishly and surrepticiously returns their costumes to the wardrobe department. At Set B2, Caroline greets him with an elegant tilt of her head, Klaus grins in response. Their scene together is fluid, a layer of something unspoken fighting its way to the surface, making every line they deliver something like absolute truth.

When Caroline flushes because she'd been caught in an emotion, torn from the moment, he is smug in knowing that part of her is remembering the feeling of his tongue on her clit.

Klaus would later go on to say in interviews that his time on _Hummingbird_ was one of the most memorable moments of his life.

 

—

 

The panels make him burn. They are asking too many questions he cannot answer. 

 _What was it like working with Caroline?_ "She has a way of making 4am call times bearable."

One night in Iceland she had huddled in his tent for warmth, the day's set bringing them far from their trailers. Enzo's scene with Jessica ran far longer than it should. Caroline fell asleep on his arm, and he did not move an inch the whole time.

 _Would you work with the current cast again?_ "Maybe not Stefan." "Hey! We had some _very_ memorable nights in Reykjadalur, Mikaelson." "Forgive me, those heated flushes I get thinking of you renders me a temporary amnesiac."

Out of everyone in the cast, he'd worked with Caroline the most. He's known her for years, he could pick her perfume out of a crowd, out of a garden. After _Hummingbird_ wrapped he was wondering why he was deviating to more subdued writing as opposed to the beefy roles his agent liked to push at him. He found himself falling maddeningly for roles that required one to introspect. He rejected roles, then scripts altogether. All of the female roles had started to have golden hair and blue, blue eyes.

 _Still a better movie than Subzero!_ Klaus finds the jokester in the crowd and bares his teeth at him as he is wont to do whenever anybody brings up his disaster of a first film.

 _Which was your least favourite scene to do?_ "The scene in the water." His eyes meet Caroline's over Nolan's head. "That one scene. There was... a lot of water."

Charlotte bled into the water. Tom held the knife in his hand, he was weeping. People on set shifted uncomfortably around him when they congregated around the craft table later. Nobody needs to be reminded how method he can be.

Perhaps sensing the distress still clinging to him, in his hotel room Caroline had held his chin in her fingers. Gentle. This felt like a beautiful time to kiss him, but she didn't, and perhaps that made him love her even more.

_What's next?_

"Looking forward to a long, long drunk sesh," Stefan says, too close to the mic.

Caroline smiles excitedly. "It's been ages since my last vacation, so... I'm going to Paris!"

When it comes to his turn, he says, "I'm not, in case you were wondering."

He says it in such a joking manner the crowd laughs along with him, but Caroline's is forced. She's the one who had said she wanted to go alone, after all.

 

—

 

Enzo @saintsaints  
Someone didn't get the memo... #TheFunInFuneral  


The Better Parker @rekrapkai  
@saintsaints you bitches didnt even invite me

Enzo @saintsaints  
@rekrapkai Apologies, mate - must have slipped my mind. Your career would have gone perfectly with the theme. 

The Better Parker @rekrapkai  
@saintsaints do you realize how badly you just played yourself?

Enzo @saintsaints  
@rekrapkai Go fuck yourself, Kai

The Better Parker @rekrapkai  
@saintsaints oh i am, pumping gloriously to the tune of your failure

 

—

 

Being a Lorenzo St. James party, nothing would ever just _be_ a party. In a miraculous show of a Scorsese-esque twist, Enzo’s erased lineage was revealed to be that of the grandson of Joe Pesci. Damon delighted in that, insisting for a party to be had. Enzo had finally found his family. Which would explain why there were hundreds of dancing Hollywood royalty on his vast, newly-inherited mansion in Newark. The hallways are lit up with candles that looked like they were stolen off the set of Crimson Peak. People amble about in the dark in hushed laughter. It doesn’t feel much like a party at all. It felt more like a haunted house, but the ghosts aren’t scary.

Klaus bumps into Caroline in the middle of a hallway. It's the first time he's seen her since the press tours ended, some months ago. He wonders if she'd enjoyed summering in France; indulges in a daydream of Caroline in the sun, until he is caught off guard by what she's wearing. She had mistakenly read the invitation to say _formal_ dressing when it had said, _funeral dressing_ , whatever the fuck that meant. Klaus bumps into her in his somber black two piece, and Caroline, flustered, acknowledges him, looking like she’s dressed for the Met Gala.

Klaus has never met someone who overdressed in such beautiful order.

"You're staring," Caroline points out in that obnoxious way of hers. "Got something to tell me?"

Klaus rakes his eyes over her without a gentleman's care. "You certainly are a spectacle."

Caroline flicks her eyelashes upwards impatiently. She doesn't look too sorry. "I know."

"How was France?" he asks.

"An avenue lined with trees." Despite herself he sees her eyes go softer, faraway. "Then picture me."

He does, all too clearly, which is the damn problem.

"How's your mother?" he asks. 

"Recovering. The chemo took time, but the tumor's all gone." She tucks her hair behind her ear, "Thanks for the recommendation. Dr. Hoon really is good."

Klaus nods. He'd read that somewhere, or Tyler had told him one morning as he'd listed off the day's schedule. Tyler always enjoyed telling Klaus that he was the least transparent person in the room when it came to Caroline. Maybe he should get a new agent.

"She says hi, by the way," Caroline ventures, like she'd been considering not telling him. But she continues when he perks in interest, "She watched _Waste_."

He blinks. "Who, Dr. Hoon?"

" _No_ ," another flick of her lashes, "my mother."

A pleasant surprise, that. "Really? What did she think of it?"

"She didn't get it," Caroline laughs quietly. "But she was into the cinematography. Said you looked... good." 

"It _has_ been some time since I last saw your mother, hasn't it?" Klaus frowns, thinking. "I think Christmas three years ago."

Caroline hums. Always committed to noncommittal around him. 

“Damon was handing these out by the bucketful,” Klaus says to change the subject. He holds his hand out. In his palm is a tightly-packed joint, rolled to perfection. He hadn't known she would show up; his initial plan was to pocket it and smoke it on the drive back, but the fates being what they are, he decided to tempt them. “When was your last time?”

Caroline’s surprise must show on her face, even in the dark, because Klaus laughs. She takes the joint from him and says, “Let’s suck these down like we’re teenagers again.”

“I think I would have enjoyed you in a cheerleading skirt.”

“You know too much about me.”

Having inherited his new home from a gangster, Enzo now lived in a house that, apparently, had an entire floor dedicated to various useless rooms.

The first door Klaus and Caroline try reveals a room full of leather, chains, and cleaning appliances. They close the door. The second door leads to an indoor pool, where Rebekah appears to be making out with Elena Gilbert. They close that door. The third door opens up into a room that looked very comfortable. It is unanimously decided that they should stay here. The light fixtures hangs low from the ceiling, Caroline has to duck around it to better admire their glow. It’s enough of a distraction from the little joint pinched between her forefinger and thumb, the nothingness of its weight somehow taunting her nerves. The lights are pretty, a dim shifting of light casting shadows on the wall, and Caroline feels lulled into its stillness – that is, until Klaus chuckles.

Perturbed, she scowls. “What?”

“This isn’t meant to be a standing-up room,” Klaus says, gesturing at the lights as he walks, the custom-made bed fitted into the smooth bamboo floor, how every corner looks snug and cozy, littered with cushions, “clearly.”

It’s a disorganized maze of lights trailing down, and Caroline ducks around one saying, “Use real words, Klaus. She weaves through them to stand next to Klaus, who is by the bathroom door. “You mean it’s a sex cave.”

“No, sweetheart. Not yet.”

He fences her to the door, she can smell nothing but him. She would very much like to smear her lipstick all over that rogueish smile of his, but she chooses to scrape the roach of the joint through his bristly jaw instead, enjoying the rustle of it. “You should shave, Klaus.”

“But I like leaving a mark on you.”

“You know you’re not supposed to,” she says reproachfully.

He knows. He had watched her dress early one morning, his lids only half-open, something oddly intimate in the way they said nothing. “You shouldn’t wear that,” he had said.

It was summer, and she’d dressed for it. Her vivid dress showed off her shoulders, and the yellow of it brought out a rosy glow to her skin. Klaus had got out of bed to be closer to her, their reflections meeting in the mirror, and when he brushed her hair aside she saw it, a purpling set of teethmarks. Klaus had looked very happy at that, but Caroline had been livid. As punishment for having to wear sleeves in 102° heat, she’d taken him on the floor of the hotel wardrobe, the hem of the dress she hadn’t been able to wear stuffed into his mouth. He’d yelled out her name when he came, muffled.

Maybe he remembers too, because his smile is softer now. They step into the gleaming bathroom, the incense burning in a corner making everything smell like a sweet forest. Klaus tugs off his bowtie and starts to unbutton his shirt, and Caroline balks a little. “What are you—?”

“The smell,” Klaus reminds her with raised eyebrows. 

“Oh,” she says. She looks down at her dress, the beautiful layers of her silhouette. “Should I?”

“Best not to let it stain our party best.”

"Right."

“I won’t touch you, Caroline,” Klaus says with a roll of is eyes, but it’s teasing. Telling her he’ll honor their agreement. Unless she wants him not to.

“I’m afraid I might still want you to,” Caroline admits playfully.

_Well._

Klaus looks down at his trousers at his feet and groans. “Well you could have told me that before I stripped down to my underwear, sweetheart.”

When Caroline just plays at the sleeves of her dress, still hesitant, Klaus says: “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He’d tried for patience, he really had, but it comes out sounding suggestive—but he can’t help it, not with her looking like magic.

Caroline takes off her shoes first. Without the added height of the needle-thin heels she steps down to the floor in a pool of her dress, a perfect circle. She can’t reach the hidden zipper at her back on her own, so Klaus has to help her. His knuckles brush against the back of her hand, the one that was pulling hair away from her neck. There’s some loss of skinwarmth when his hand tugs the zip downwards. It feels like a foreign movement. He’s never had to help her undress before.

The zip goes all the way down and he follows, and at last Caroline steps daintily out of her dress. Klaus doesn’t allow her dress to crumple to the floor; he’d held it up around her calves. Now he kneels down at her feet. He looks up. Something clicks into place in his chest, something strangely metaphoric he can’t place. He looks up.

Her hand reaches out to stray through his hair. He is afraid to close his eyes for fear of the temporary. He is right: as soon as the moment began it ended, and Klaus wonders if it happened at all. He gets up with an abruptness that doesn’t shake Caroline at all. She helps him tuck his bow tie into the pocket of his folded-up shirt; his hands coax her dress into a neat little square. They step around each other, a habit well practiced.

It’s when their clothes are safely kept in one of the mirrored cabinets that Caroline flicks the lighter and lights the joint, dragging deep. She comes up with a cough and a grin around smoke. “Shit.”

“Fucking Salvatores,” Klaus chuckles appreciatively, and accepts the joint when she passes it to him. His drag breaks off into a spluttering cough. “ _Fucking_ Salvatores.”

“Getting old, Mikaelson?” Caroline grins at him. She takes the joint from him. “Because I’m getting stupid.”

“If anyone’s stupid here, it’s me.” Klaus is perched on the edge of the granite bathtub, Caroline in her little slip dress sprawled out in it. She crosses her ankle, one over the other, and gestures for him to hold out the joint. Her lips, dry from smoke, scratch against his index finger and thumb as she inhales. Leaning close to her, Klaus finds himself hoping she’ll blow the smoke in his face.

And the thing is, she does, and the thing is - the thing is, he might have taken in a deep breath like it meant something. He goes back to his previous position feeling slightly embarrassed.

“So serious, Klaus.” He doesn't know if it's the weed but the smirk on her face seems to be mocking him, saying, _there's no need to be that way_.

Her voice scratches on the marble walls. A curl droops low over one eye. She blows it away, eyes tinging a slight red now.

Klaus takes another drag. Her eyelids are drooping, lash-heavy, when she looks at him over the lip of the tub. Caroline props her chin on her folded arms. She adds, “— we’re all friends here.”

“You know I don’t feel that way for you.”

There’s a look he’s come to know on her face. It is minute, flashes hot and disappears just as. It’s the look she gives him whenever he veers off-script while she fights to maintain composure, to be in the moment, not clutched by it the way he so often gets. “Maybe I don’t want to be your friend after all.”

“Make up your mind, Forbes.”

The joint is passed back and forth. Caroline takes a particularly hard drag, the end of the blunt sparks. Klaus watches with interest, and says, “Though sometimes it seems like you have. You speak so ill of me in the papers.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t?”

“You would know, love, if you read any of my interviews.”

“You know I don’t read the society papers,” Caroline says flippantly, pushing back against the tub to rest her head against the wall. “Media gossip is terrible for the complexion.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Do you call me sweetheart in the papers too?” she demands suddenly. “Do you call me _love?”_

“Don’t taunt me, Caroline.” Klaus gives a low laugh. His muscles are relaxed, his body leans heavily against the wall. He is very much a man resigned to the clouds. “I know I’m not allowed to.”

They’re down to their last drag. Caroline inhales all the way in, keeps the smoke in her lungs as she passes it back to him in a fumble: their locomotive skills not at their best at the moment. Klaus twines his fingers in hers, his free hand brings the joint to his lips and he smokes it to the end.

For a while they just look at each other, the smoke going straight to their heads. His temperature rises, his heart beats in his ears. She looks flushed and lazy and alive.

It does not take much on Caroline’s part to pull him into the bath with her. He clambers in heavily, he crowds her right to the wall. Water comes next with a turn of the handle. Then her mouth on his neck. Her fingers with his, freeing and unfreeing, a tangle of movement. His nose in her hair. Her lashes tickling his lips. His lips, _hers_ , just on the verge of meeting: a pulse, two pulses, and an ancient longing. He can't remember a time he didn't want her. Or maybe he does, but it dimmed with the arrival of Caroline. Her stomach wet against his, their warm bodies curious for each other, as if wondering if anything has changed since - the last time. But their bodies fit together the way they always did: too close, heavy leaning, a small desperation. Their bodies fit together and - yes, it all still feels the same. With hot water showering down over their heads and the air smelling of lavender steam she puts her lips to his. Klaus responds with abandon.

“You didn’t even care about the answer in the end, did you?” Caroline rasps against the water on her lips. “You just wanted to kiss me.”

Klaus pulls her closer. Her little slip dress is soaked now, it clings to her like a second skin, he has the urge to drop to his knees like he has many times before, to part her legs and _lick_. “Fine. What are we, then?”

Caroline shivers when his tongue meets hers. Intoxicated as they are, it feels _fucking_ good to kiss him. So they kiss again. And while they kiss and kiss she convinces herself they are in a makeshift set up, artificial rain, waiting for someone to yell cut at any moment. _Be in the moment_ , she reminds herself. _Don’t go anywhere else._

“ _Not_ friends, that’s for damn sure,” she says finally, giving into his fingers moving down her stomach.

Eventually they do make it to the bed. That's where Klaus braces himself over Caroline, watching her face as he enters her. He starts moving after seeing her face at first contort with pleasure—and then relax, into a smile. 

 

—

 

MovieMania @MovieMania  
We sit down with Klaus and Caroline to talk Waste, set pranks, and play F*ck, Marry, Kill. Watch here: youtu.be/j4sPbAPZu60  


Amanda @habrina  
@MovieMania @CarolineForbes @klaus stop playing us you assholes 

tay. @peachyforbes  
@habrina are they friends? are they not!??? are they having an affair bts!? i don’t get it at ALL. 

C. @candycola  
I MAINTAIN that this is a cleverly devised PR stunt I mean the OBVIOUS discrepancies between their individual interviews. WAKE UP AMERICA

melissa @goldcaught  
@candycola i can't look away from his hands and the direction they're in WHERE ARE THEY GOING WHERE WILL THEY END

 

—

 

“We joke all the time,” Klaus says with a simple smile; the reporter scribbles fast. “She was a marvelous presence to have on set, always laughing, that one is.”

A day later, Caroline appears on Ellen.

Caroline reveals exasperatedly to her clipped mic, “We would fight _all_ the time.”

Ellen nods sympathetically, exaggeratedly while the audience laughs. Somewhere in the middle of the interview, she adds, “It’s always astounding to see the finished product of our scenes on screen, because the process of it… not pretty.”

It was like that in front of the cameras. A tug and a pull, a smile and a scowl, an audience left in questions. But behind the scenes they would fuck, and screw, and sometimes, very nearly make love.

Caroline liked to suck him off against the glass wall facing the Japanese garden. Her head bobs up and down, her mouth slick and warm; the ends of her hair brush against his thighs, every strand a tease. If not for the wooden beam or his hands grabbing the back of her head he doesn't think he'd still be standing. He grits his teeth together and pants, trying his hardest not to choke her with how he moves his hips, but at the same time, not trying hard enough. He likes listening to her get full from him, watch his skin bleed from hthe scrape of her wondering nails. What  _Caroline_  likes is hearing his skin stick to the glass. She likes it even more that they're doing this here, fulfilling voyeuristic desires while evading the thirst of the paparazzi. Nothing is sacred here, truly. Having had Caroline make excellent work of his cock, he thought it prudent to return the favour.

Looking back he often wonders what he did wrong. It must have been the kiss. He couldn't help himself. 

Klaus kisses her, swallowing the taste of the chocolate and wine she'd had earlier. He makes her taste in return the linger of his tongue, the want in his breathing. Between their open mouths they exchange air in sharp bursts, the practice of breathing intervened by roaming hands and the sweep of naked skin. Klaus kisses her until she's bucking beneath him begging. Her eyebrows pull together into a scowl as sweat collects on her forehead. "Just fuck me already, Mikaelson." 

"No, Caroline." He moves his lips to her ear, where she likes. "Use different words."

"Start your engines."

He snorts a laugh into her neck. Klaus hears her quietly whimper. "Caroline."

Somehow she manages to press her hand to her chest, face full of mock concentration bleating out, "O Klaus, mine brazen-faced lambkin, mine tamed lover, I pray thee bequeath upon me the gift of your tender touch and golden donger."

"Let me _romance_ you, love," Klaus groans exasperatedly, but there is a quirk to his lips when he noses her hands aside to mouth at her breasts. He presses his forehead to her sternum, he kisses her stomach. Caroline responds eagerly, her fingers curling in his hair. 

Breathlessly she laughs, "Did my heart fly at your service!" 

He can't deny her now, not when she is laughing so freely, not when she's looking at him  _that_ way, so lays her flat on the sofa and proceeds to brush his thumb against her clit once before moving to push against her entrance. Caroline keeps her eyes on his. She's urging him on silently despite the crinkle of her eyes, a genuine smile. But then he moves his hand away and she makes a sound, frustrated and wanting, which turns into a moan, long and satisfied, when he uses his mouth instead. 

For some reason, he never can anticipate the arch of her back until it pushes more of her into him. His heart pounds against his chest, loud and painful. Klaus forces himself to keep his eyes open, watching the way Caroline moves against his tongue, his finger plunging tauntingly into her cunt every other rock of her hips.

“I’m close,” she pleads, not laughing anymore. “I’m close, do it, do it, do it now—“

He spreads her thighs wider, he presses his tongue deeper into her cunt. _say it, say it now_ , he thinks.

“Do it,” Caroline sobs.

He forces this lick to be the last – for now – and pulls his mouth away from her clit. “Say it first.”

Caroline’s chest heaves, she looks wrecked. “Say _what_ , Klaus?”

The look Klaus gives has a layer of fever upon it. “Say that you love me.”

Caroline, for all her clattering little heart, remarkably is not trembling. She straightens up, elbows propping her, and stares at him wordlessly.

“Because you do, don’t you, love?” He searches her eyes.

She doesn’t look away.

When she doesn’t say a word Klaus swiftly shuts his eyes and goes back to her thighs, her waiting cunt. With two fingers inside her Klaus brings her screaming to her climax, he feels her spine shudder against his palm.

That night he had made her come with just his mouth, and Klaus decides, with saccharinity, that he would again tonight.

 

—

 

His flight is almost delayed, but he makes it to New York on time. He shows up at her place while she’s about to start on her dessert, dinner of one. Her bodyguards had just let him in. It gives him a prickle of hope in the notion that she is fully aware of this, that maybe she is waiting for him. That she has let him in. Once inside, he steels himself, flexes his hands. Her penthouse is dark save for the light coming from the kitchen.

Caroline sits at the table, watching him impassively.

"Was this too short notice?" he tries for nonchalance, but it never works on Caroline.

Caroline looks at him strangely. She wants to say something. She won't, of course, she is trained that way. Always in control of her movements. If only he could be so dexterous.

He was used to travelling the world with her, but he wasn’t used to standing in her kitchen. What a poor, poor man he is, he thinks (rather obnoxiously, Rebekah would snort). She’d tended to her home the way one plants a garden. Each colour with a purpose, always making room for little quirks that made him want to reach out and touch. He’s seen her in the moonlit gulfs of the Bohai Sea, but against her pattered draperies in the heart of TriBeCa Klaus has never felt so disarmed.

“You look like you belong here,” Klaus says softly.

“Uh, it’s my apartment?” is the natural Caroline response.

Klaus takes a deep breath, and begins. “Everything about me is carefully cultivated. Bits and strings for the cameras to see. But not with you. You know me, love. You know me in my marrow. Tell me I don’t mean what I say.”

“Half of what you say is meaningless,” Caroline responds carelessly, but her fingers are tense around her spoon. She still hasn’t taken a bite of her tiramisu. She chooses to bite into him instead, adding with a leer, “And I thought you couldn’t devote the time for a relationship. Not with me.”

Klaus stares. “I thought you didn't read society papers.”

“You,” is all she shrugs.

And Klaus understands. _You_. The single most perplexing pronoun in the history of expression, _you_ , standing, staring, spoon on the table. _You_ , three little letters that make up an existence, sleeping through the night against his arm. _You_ — the singular exception.

So Klaus steps closer. “Can I just clarify once again that was against my better judgement, in deep urge by my publicist? Apparently keeping me in the employment pages is hard work.”

Caroline considers this, but it’s only for show, Klaus knows. He knew it in the cramped little tent in Mývatn, he knew it in the granite tub in Newark. He can never read her as well as when he is inside her.

“I believe you,” Caroline says at last. She pushes her chair away from the table. “Now let’s you and I make love.”

She leads him to her bedroom and sighs when he shuts the door behind them.

That night, they make stars.

 

—

 

  
_fin_

 

**Author's Note:**

> one thing i've noticed in my fics is that, while the universes and plot are very much different, the same path i take is that there's always the slowest of all slowburns for klaus and caroline to finally just BE. i wanted to do something different this time. i wanted to write something that wasn't so linear, like stepping right in the middle of a love affair. that means making klaus and caroline the pulse of this city and forgoing the ensemble of characters i usually do so love stuffing into my fics. 
> 
> another little tidbit: this style of writing - the interviews, the mixed media - was originally planned to be the formatting of the sequel i was dreaming about writing for [all those friendly people](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1579229/chapters/3353387), but then melissa sauntered into my life with her beautiful slurred demands of an actor au, "something gritty and hot, paparazzi and after parties and LA heat", lots of porn (as also demanded by ravyn - cupcakemolotov), and put extra emphasis on a "happy ending bECAUSE ITS MY BIRTHDAY HANNAHJ" and this universe was born; how could i deny her! i got some bits right, i hope? 
> 
> come [find me on my tumblr](http://highgaarden.tumblr.com)! i love talking to people, about fic or otherwise. do let me know what you think of this story; even anonymous reviews are welcome.


End file.
